


267 - Cute Meet ft. Junk Food, Little Mary, and a Van-Loving Baby Named Rowan

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, Dad Van, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original non-requested mini fic about future-dad Van and fish and chips.





	267 - Cute Meet ft. Junk Food, Little Mary, and a Van-Loving Baby Named Rowan

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the true story of a baby out the front of a fast food place falling in love with me and weirdly patting Kasey’s doggo.

Rowan had always loved the ocean. She loved alive rockpools and crashing waves. She loved the taste of salt on her little hands for hours after. She loved the word ‘fish’ and hot, hot days. They were a promise she could return to where she felt she belonged. As you picked up the one-year-old, you and everyone else were blessed with a demonstration of just how much she loved the beach.

The screaming was ear-splitting.

None of the parenting books or blogs had prepared you for Rowan to have such personality and preference so early on. The other one-year-olds you’d met liked maybe two things - food and sleep. Rowan, however, liked and disliked long lists. She was even able to make solid conclusions about new people within a second of knowing them. She was infamous for holding a grudge.

As you walked down the main street from the beach passing teenagers in swimwear and suits having knock-offs, you managed to calm your baby girl to a quiet sniffle.

“How 'bout we get some dinner, huh? Chips? Nice and salty,” you said to her. She was too young to reply but you knew she’d be down for it. Salt like the sea.

There was a line out the door of the fish and chip place. You joined it and glance around. Of the two tables on the sidewalk, only one was occupied. A small brown dog sat under it, their tail wagging happily. Rowan appeared to have noticed it too. She reached out in that direction, her chubby fingers wriggling.

“Dog?” you asked her.

The dog was getting pats and smiles from the many people that passed it. You watched as the two guys sitting at the table obliged anyone that knelt for some puppy love. “Yeah! Course!” one of them kept saying. “Yeah, she’s a girl,” and “Name’s Mary,” and “Nah, she won’t bite. She’s friendly!”

Rowan wriggled in your arms, begging to be set on the ground. As soon as you did, she trotted over to the table. Falling on her butt in front of the dog, she reached out for her. You quickly grabbed Rowan’s hand protectively. The guys at the table were laughing and talking to Rowan already.

“It’s alright. Mary’s safe,” the talkative one said.

You looked up at him. He grinned a goofy, toothy smile.

“Let her smell your hand first,” you whispered to Rowan, moving her hand for her.

Mary smelt, then licked at Rowan’s hand. Rowan went for a pat, making the gliding motion across Mary’s back, but never actually touching her. She had probably meant to, but one-year-olds will be one-year-olds. The guys laughed at her with a sound that was really more of a giggle. Temporarily happy, you picked Rowan up, thanked the guys, and rejoined the line.

Temporarily being the key word.

She very quickly began to squirm again. You glanced over your shoulder. One of the guys, the talkative one, was waving at Rowan. She was grinning back, holding both hands up like she wanted him.

“Did you even want to pat the dog?” you asked her. She ignored you. “Well… You can spot a cutie, I’ll give you that.”

After you made your order, you went to sit at the free table outside. Rowan was still fussing in the guy’s direction. He could hear her making funny little mewing sounds, so turned around in his seat.

“Hiya, babes,” he said to her with a wave. She squealed in delight and reached out for him again. “Can I hold her?” he asked you.

“Um, yeah. Okay,” you replied slowly, standing up and handing your child over.

Normally there would be no way in hell you’d so easily give Rowan to someone you didn’t know. But she just… adored him. As soon as she was sitting on his lap, she went quiet. She stared at his face, too close to really see anything, her perfect little nose brushing against his cheek. The guy stayed still, letting Rowan do whatever it was she was doing. He was holding in laughter.

“Got yourself another fan, Van,” his friend said.

“What’s she doin’?” the guy asked you, in a whisper.

Moving around to look at Rowan’s expression, you knew you couldn’t really answer the question. “Ah… Honestly don’t know. She’s usually a touch more… cautious when she’s meeting people. She just must love you,”

“Love at first sight, innit?! What’s her name?”

“Rowan,”

He made a funny little gasping sound at her. “Rowan! That’s a good name. Bit like mine. I’m called Ryan, but everyone just calls me Van. Ryan and Rowan sound almost the same, huh?” She didn’t giggle or make a face at him. She was still just staring in a state of utter bliss. “Think we’re gonna have to get married now, me and you,” Van said to you. “So I can adopt this one.”

Van’s friend made a snorting sound as he took a sip of his Coke.

You weren’t sure if Van was being funny or if he was flirting.

You weren’t even sure which you wanted it to be.

Rowan started to babble before you could take your turn in the conversation. Van looked from you, down to her. He grinned as she spoke to him, nodding and saying things like, “Oh, really?” and “Tell me more.” Encouraged by his active listening, she continued to speak nonsense and continued to hold on tight to him.

From inside the chip shop, your number was called. Both the boys watched you turn to look in, then turn back to Rowan.

“Yours? I’ll grab it,” Van’s friend said.

“It’s alri-”

“No worries, love,” he assured you, jumping up and heading inside.

“That’s Larry. He’s me best mate,” Van informed you. You smiled at the simplicity of the statement. The purity.

Larry returned, placing your tray down on his and Van’s table. He picked up his own tray, covered with burger wrappers and empty chip trays, and went off in search of a bin. Meanwhile, Van continued his love affair with Rowan. Mary had settled down, lying on the warm sidewalk and falling asleep.

“Alright, mate. Tomorrow then?” Larry said, returning to the table but not sitting.

“Yeah. Seven. See you then,” Van replied with a grin and a nod.

Larry held his chair out and motioned for you to sit. “Nice to meet ya Rowan and…” he started.

“Y/N,”

“Y/N,” Larry repeated.

“Nice to meet you too. Thanks,” you replied, taking a seat awkwardly.

Van reached out for a chip from your tray, took a bite, paused briefly, then handed it to Rowan. She was usually a very forceful dinner guest; she would reach out for the food herself and smoosh handfuls into her mouth. With Van, she politely waited for chip by chip to be handed to her. Van looked up, his eyes meeting yours.

“Making sure they’re not too hot,” he explained.

You’d already logically assumed that is what he was doing, so it wasn’t the question the expression on your face was asking. That one was more like, 'Why are you - a complete stranger - feeding my child without permission, prompting, or any sort of social norm to back you up?’ But, Rowan was happy and getting the meal you were going to give her anyway. No harm. In fact, it was a relief to have someone else be the one to give the infant chips. People directed their judgemental glares at Van instead of you. It didn’t matter that she ate healthy 95% of the time. Give a baby a chip?! Death penalty!

As you ate chips and onion rings, and watched the boy across the table with your baby, you felt an unfamiliar familiarity. It felt something like safe, maybe. Warmth? Home?

“Y/N is a nice name,” Van said out of nowhere. He looked across the table and grinned the toothy, goofy grin.

“Thanks,” you replied with an ill-hidden smile and blush.

“Do you know why your parents named you that?”

“Think they just liked the name. What about you? How’d you get Van from Ryan?”

“Middle name’s Evan. Why’s this one named Rowan?” he asked, bouncing her on his lap. She hiccupped, and he looked at her like she’d just answered all his prayers.

“Just liked it,” you said.

Van nodded, but he was disappointed in the answer. He was the type of person to like names with reason. “When I have kids, I’m gonna name them after songs and stuff, I reckon,” he said. “But I really love the name Niamh and that isn’t from a song,”

“That’s really pretty,” you agreed.

“Maybe, when we’re married and after I adopt Row-boat, our second child can be Niamh,” Van suggested. When the sentence was done, he took a sharp bite of chip while maintaining eye contact. It was funny and weird and you made a strange laughing sound you hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Sounds good,”

“Cool… Did you hear that?” he asked Rowan. She was watching the chip in his hand. He moved it about and smiled as she tracked it with her chubby baby fingers. “Not even listening to me at all, are ya Row-boat?” He let her have the chip and she looked up at him as she ate, fluttering her eyelashes by accident. Van looked over at you. “I ain’t joking. I really think I love her,”

“I can see that,” you replied as you fished around the tray for more onion rings.

“And maybe we don’t get married on the first date, can leave that for a bit, come back to it later, but think maybe me and you should do something, yeah? Nice dinner. Or movies.”

You looked up from the tray of greasy fried food. Van’s head was tilted slightly as he awaited your response. It was evident he wasn’t taking the piss. Still, you didn’t know how to just accept a good thing.

“You’re just using me to get to her,” you said, your voice coming out in a whisper that was a dead giveaway that you were internally freaking out.

“Nah. You got a sitter? If not, Larry can look after her. He’s looked after me forever, so he’s definitely qualified. 'Sides. Even without the cutest wingman in the world, you’re still…” Van paused, then picked up one of the fish fingers that he’d left to cool before. “A catch!” He held the fish finger up and waited for your applause. You stared at him blank faced. “Really? Come on! That was funny,”

“Was it?”

“Oh! So sassy!” With your affection harder to earn than Rowan’s, he returned his attention to her. “Here ya go,” he said, handing her the fish finger. “Did you know that lobsters don’t even die?” he asked her. She watched him talk, completely engaged. She was smooshing fish finger all over the place. “They got some special DNA that fixes itself, so they just keep living forever. Only die if they get a disease or get eaten or something,”

“Is that true?” you asked him, interrupting their sea life biology lesson.

“Yeah. Saw it on the Discovery Channel. The fish just reminded me of it,” he replied.

And so you sat eating chips and onion rings, and watching a stranger named Van hand fish fingers to Rowan. He continued to make aquatic and fish puns, culminating in him having a breakdown when he suddenly recalled the important information that his band was named Catfish and the Bottlemen. As soon as he said it, Rowan was repeating the phrase the best she could.

“Fish!” she yelped.

“Yeah, mate!” Van replied. “Catfish,”

“Aafish,”

“And the Bottlemen,” he tried.

“aannaaohhhh,” she repeated.

“Pretty close, Row-boat. Let’s stick to Catfish for now, yeah?”

“Aafish!”

Van looked across at you, your eyes meeting. It all slipped away. The smell of the chip shop’s fryer. The sound of traffic and children running down the street to get to the beach faster. The heat of the day, warming your skin. The feeling of Mary the dog brushing up against your feet. For a second, it was just you, Van, and that unfamiliar familiarity. Suddenly, Rowan was babbling loudly, pushing the nearly-empty tray away from her. Van laughed as she tried to get his can of Coke.

“Nah. Water for you,” he told her, picking the sippy cup up off the table. She accepted it begrudgingly, looking over at you as if to say, 'I definitely love him, Mum, but the motherfucker gave me water when I know he’s got the sugary good stuff just there. I’ve decided to blame you for this.’

“She won’t forgive you for that,” you told him.

Van shrugged and smiled. “Ah-well. Got plenty of time to make it up to her. She’s only little.”

What an implication.


End file.
